Tell Your Mom You Love Her

I stepped onto the pavement of the parking lot and turned. Staring back at me was a set of white double doors that each had a lattice window of translucent glass. That set of doors with a deep gray awning a foot or so above seemed to speak to me through the night. This place felt familiar, in fact, it felt a little too familiar. Feeling such, I stated loudly, "This place feels familiar." I made sure that my family caught that it felt that why and that I wasn't remembering it. In fact, I couldn't remember it, no matter how hard I tried.

My mother said, "I should hope so. You've been to two or three funerals here, you know."

I nodded, even though I didn't know. My mind had only managed to dredge up one odd memory to go with this feeling. It was from a much smaller person's point of view, walking toward these very same doors. The only thing that was different now was the fact that it was close to seven o'clock, and the memory was early afternoon.

We finally came to those two doors that were set unremovable in the mind of a little girl, now much older, and my younger sister was the one who opened them. She jumped back as her eyes made contact with the loud carpet that covered the two steps immediately inside the door. It made us laugh, but I didn't blame her. That carpet had seemed screamed at her when she opened the door. Very bright colored flowers on a black background didn't seem the style for a funeral home. Thank goodness that after the steps the carpet was a mellow olive green that crawled through the entire building.

We were visiting this funeral home for a friend. My neighbor's mother had died two days before, and though I didn't know her, my mother had insisted that we come, just because we knew my neighbor.

The actual room where the viewing took place made my skin crawl. It �felt� just like the doors had, horribly familiar. The rectangular room was carpeted with the mellow green and the walls were covered with a cream-white paper. There were chairs and sofas when you first entered, but afterward were flowers, covering three walls, and all with sympathy cards to the family of the deceased. There was a crowd of people around the casket, so that I could see nothing but the lid and the gold end where no one stood. Not being able to see the deceased made it eerie. My mind flashed back to so long ago. . . .

My great-grandmother had died, and she was probably only the second person I knew that had. I was so little for the first one that I hadn't really understood, but for this second funeral, I was allowed to go where the adults were, to see my great-grandmother. I shuffled through the line, and then came up to the gold casket. I had to stand on my toes to get a good look. . . .

I pushed the memory away. It wasn't that it was sad, it was just weird. If I thought about it long enough, it would be like I was at her funeral again, and I wasn't.

We found my neighbor quickly. She hugged my mom, my sister and I, then my dad started talking to her brother and my mom to her. That left my sister and I to ourselves to talk about anything. After we ran out of things to talk about, my eyes surveyed the flowers. The ones that called attention the most were three arrangements. One set on top of the open lid, the largest by far, with script pinned to it that read "Wife", a second was near the head of the casket that read "Mom", and the third was slightly lower with "Daughter" pinned to it. It was very lovely, well, about as lovely as you could consider a viewing.

My mom turned to me. "Ready to go?"

I nodded yes, so did my sister. She then turned the question to my father, and he answered, "I guess."

It was then time for more hugs. My neighbor and my mom took time saying good-bye. She then gave my sister a hug, and whispered something in her ear. It was my turn. The whole mood of the place was starting to make me sad, and my mind couldn't get off that memory. What came next was something I wasn't prepared for, but are probably the wisest words I've ever been told. My neighbor hugged me and then whispered in my ear, "Make sure that you tell your mom you love her."

Copyright � Amanda C. Barton, 1996

This page hosted by Get your own Free Home Page